


At the Turn of the Moon

by auri_mynonys



Series: What Milady Needs [1]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: Coming of Age, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Menstruation, Romantic Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-28
Updated: 2013-03-28
Packaged: 2017-12-06 18:30:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/738782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auri_mynonys/pseuds/auri_mynonys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eowyn, suffering from horrendous pain during her period, finds an unexpected friend and healer in her uncle’s new counsellor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At the Turn of the Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted by GeekHyena: Grima/Eowyn - hurt/comfort - he nurses her back to health, and she comes to trust him more.
> 
> I have a recently acquired headcanon that Éowyn suffers from truly horrendous periods – crippling cramps, vomiting, atrocious mood swings and migraines. I feel like it would contribute to her misery at being trapped in sort of typically feminine roles. It’s like an extra layer of entrapment. So for this piece, it’s all about Gríma sitting with Éowyn and trying to mitigate her pain and keep her functional. Eventually it will become a thing that binds her to him even when he’s turned against her country, and it will always bother her, but she’ll feel like she can’t escape – like she needs him.

One summer morning, when Éowyn was twelve and the moon was about to turn full, she awoke to a sharp pain in her gut, and a sudden tide of blood.

Nobody had told her that this would come to pass. Her uncle had mostly tutored her himself, taking great joy in teaching her to sword fight and strategize in battle like her brother and cousin. She had learned her letters at their side, and studied maps and learned of politics along with them, every inch their equal. And if sometimes a courtier said something to Théoden about his treatment of his little niece – if sometimes they tried to make her feel that she was different – they were immediately rebuffed.

Théoden must not have known much about what happened to girls at Éowyn’s age, or perhaps he would have told her sooner.

She had run to him in a terrible panic, clutching her bloodied nightgown in her hands and sobbing that she was cursed with some awful disease, that she was dying even now. Her terror had only grown when Théoden had turned a strange shade of red and had hurried off with her to the servants’ quarters, only murmuring a quick assurance that nothing was amiss, that everything would be alright.

He had brought her to one of the more familiar servants, the head of Meduseld’s stores and larders, Ymma. “This is an issue only a woman can explain,” he’d said, gently pushing the sobbing Éowyn into Ymma’s hands; and he’d left almost at once, as though he could not bear to hear a word about the subject.

So it had been left to Ymma to explain woman’s blood to Éowyn, and to explain exactly what it meant. “Today you are a woman, truly,” she’d said, as though this were a thing to find great delight in. “This blood is not a thing to cry and wail about. It is a  _gift._ Now you may bear children, and bring the heirs of kings into the world!”

Éowyn did not wish to bear the heirs of kings. She only wished to be one.

She had accepted (with considerable incredulity) her nurse’s explanation of her woman’s blood; and accepted even more dubiously the fainthearted explanation of what exactly went into creating the heirs Ymma seemed so enthused about. It made sense when she thought about it, she supposed; she’d spent enough time learning of the breeding habits of horses to extrapolate. But that had always seemed to be so animal an instinct – certainly not something she’d expected of people. Yet if her nurse was to be believed, this was the natural order of things; and no matter how great the pain in her gut may have been, this was how it was supposed to be.

Ymma repeated this to her often as the months began to march steadily past. Each month brought a new few days of terror, full of blood and pain and sharp, untimely bursts of anger. Each month, that set of days grew steadily worse. “You are fighting it too much,” Ymma would say, while Éowyn lay curled in her bed crying. “You must accept that this is natural. You cannot let it rule you like this.”

But rule Éowyn it did. For years, under Ymma’s pressures, she did her best to smile and bear the pain, even when it sent her running for a basin or out of doors to the courtyards to retch up whatever she’d eaten that day. She stood stoic and straight and did her utmost to pretend that nothing was wrong, that nothing at all had changed.

In truth, everything had changed. From the moment the blood had first come onward, Éowyn became a separate being from her brother and cousin. Where once Théoden had treated her as their equal, he suddenly had her parted from their lessons, and ordered Ymma to be her teacher instead. So instead of politics and strategy, Éowyn learned what it was to be master of the larders and the stores; she learned to stitch and mend and play the hostess, how to sing and smile and play demure even when she did not feel demure at all.

When she had time, she continued her lessons with the sword – but only when she had the time.

Things settled into a depressing sort of rhythm after a time. Éowyn did her duties as best she could, in stoic and resigned silence, shadows growing ever deeper on her heart; and every month, her woman’s blood came, and every month it hurt her more and more.

It was no good thing, Éowyn soon decided, to be born a woman.

 

* * *

 

When she was fifteen, Gríma son of Gálmód arrived at court.

His name was cruel, a name meaning  _ugly;_ but it suited him, according to most in Edoras. Certainly he had not been blessed with great beauty by Rohirric standards. His eyes were strange, one feverishly bright blue, the other milky pale; his nose was just that bit too forward, his skin too pale, and above all, his hair much too dark.

Éowyn had never seen anyone with black hair before – indeed, had no idea how Gríma could have inherited such a color, when the Rohirrim were so bright and blonde. “It’s the Dunlending in him,” said Ymma darkly, as Gríma made his introductions to the court. “A bastard child, he is; a pity his father never had a legitimate son. The inheritance all goes to him now, bastard or no. And now he dares to claim a place at the king’s side, as if he had any right. Gálmód should have banished him and his whore mother back to Dunland, where they belong.”

The words held such venom that Éowyn drew back, casting her nurse a glare. “You speak very harshly of a man you know almost nothing of,” she said. “I trust the king’s judgment; don’t you?”

At that Ymma had fallen silent; but her disapproval was evident even in her silence.

After Gríma’s primary introduction to the court, Théoden led him to meet his closest relations – Éomer and Théodred first. It had been apparent to Éowyn even from the distance at which she’d stood that her brother and cousin would never be friends with this man; they had eyed each other like tom cats in an alley, all but glaring one another down as each bowed in turn. If Théoden noticed, he said nothing of the matter.

Éowyn did not understand their reticence. She was not a trusting person by nature, but she was also not given to needless cruelty, and nothing Gríma had said or done had given her reason to dislike him. So when Théoden brought Gríma to her, she was at her most polite and kind.

“And this,” Théoden said, when he and Gríma stood before her, “Is the jewel of my house, Éowyn. Éowyn, my new counsellor and steward, Gríma son of Gálmód.”

“My lord,” she murmured, ducking her head shyly and curtsying at once. She could feel his eyes on her even as he bowed to her.

“My lady,” he said; and at the sound of his voice her heart lurched strangely in her chest. His was a voice that was impossible to shut out – a warm tenor voice, smooth as butter, slow and relentless in its pacing. His was a voice that caressed every syllable of every word he spoke, tasting each word before he let it free. “A great pleasure to make your acquaintance. Tales of your growing loveliness spread far and wide about Rohan.”

She flushed, rising from her curtsy. “Such tale-tellers are kind,” she said, “But I’m afraid they’ve much exaggerated.”

She met his eyes and almost gasped. He had the most piercing gaze, unblinking and unrelenting. He met her eyes boldly, never looking away from her even as she turned a darker shade of scarlet. “On that we must disagree, my lady,” he said. “The tales they tell hardly do you justice.”

Éowyn floundered for a moment, uncertain how to respond. Her uncle only smiled fondly at her, but offered her no way out. Flustered, Éowyn dropped a small, hurried curtsy. “You are too kind, sir,” she said.

“Yes, indeed,” said Ymma from behind her, jostling forward to take Éowyn’s arm. “Far too kind. But the princess hardly needs such kindness, and she has duties to attend to.”

Théoden’s smile faded at once. “Ymma,” he said, sharply. “You might do well to remember  _your_ duties first, and bite your tongue before it trips its way into trouble.” He nodded in the direction of the kitchens. “The larders are being filled at this moment. Should you not see to them at once?”

Ymma pursed her lips, but bobbed a curtsy. “Apologies, my king – my lord,” she added, with considerably less enthusiasm. “My lady, if you will.”

“No,” Théoden said, taking Éowyn’s arm and pulling her to his side. “Éowyn will stay with me today.”

Ymma opened her mouth, but did not dare to protest the command of her king. “Very well,” she said, dropping another curtsy. “Good day, my lords – lady.”

It had been such a long time since Éowyn had been granted freedom from her nurse. Delighted, she turned and threw her arms around her uncle, clinging to him a tight, spontaneous hug. “Thank you,” she said, stepping back with a dazzling smile. “I do not think I could have stood to be with her another minute.”

“She grows more crotchety every day, doesn’t she,” said Théoden, shaking his head; but he was smiling again, the kindly smile he always saved just for her. “Perhaps it’s time you went about your duties on your own command, instead of hers.”

Éowyn looked up at him hopefully. “Please,” she begged. “She never listens to anything I say and I hardly ever get to do anything interesting when I’m with her.”

Théoden laughed and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Perhaps you can help Gríma settle in. I imagine his duties will be more to your interest than Ymma’s.”

Éowyn glanced at Gríma, nervously tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. He had been standing politely away from Théoden, looking between them with that small, formal smile one sometimes wears when listening in on a conversation one hasn’t been invited into. He straightened at once at the mention of his name, eyes locking with Éowyn’s once again. “I would be most honored, my liege,” he said, inclining his head respectfully. “If the lady would be interested, of course? I am sure she has far more important duties than attending to a humble counsellor.”

Éowyn eyed him narrowly. He was certainly overly fond of praise, and elaborate praise at that. Flattery could only go so far with the house of Eorl, though. Éowyn wondered what it was Théoden had seen in this man. There surely must be  _something._ “Well, if you consider embroidery and counting stock in the larders important, then I suppose I do,” she said at last, lightly. “It’s important not to trust ladies with the difficult work, you know.”

At that Gríma smiled, a genuine smile this time – open mouthed, followed with a quiet laugh. “Is that so?”

“So Ymma tells me,” Éowyn said. “Rumor has it it interferes with our delicate constitution. But if you happen to keep smelling salts and a cushion for me to faint on on hand, I imagine I can find a way to be of some use to you.”

His laugh this time was anything but quiet – a surprisingly sharp spike of laughter, one that he quickly bit down on in embarrassment. “I’m sure all the proper arrangements can be made,” he said, still half-biting his lip to stop the laugh. “I am grateful for any help my lady may offer me.”

Théoden was looking between them, beaming broadly. He looked, for an instant, as though he’d planned for all of this and was watching it all fall into place; then the look was gone, and he was stepping away from Éowyn. “It’s settled, then,” he said. “Tomorrow morning, first thing, Éowyn. But in the meantime, I must show you around Meduseld, Grima, and get you to your new quarters.” He kissed Éowyn lightly on the forehead. “I’ll see you again at dinner, Éowyn,” he murmured. “And thank you.”

“Oh – you’re welcome?” Éowyn said, puzzled. She stepped back and curtsied to Gríma once more, bowing her head. “It was a pleasure to meet you, my lord.”

Gríma bowed to her at once, a deep, sweeping bow. “The pleasure was mine, my lady,” he said. “I look forward to seeing you again.”

With that, Théoden swept off with Gríma in tow, talking animatedly about the tapestries on the wall and pointing out particularly important servants as they moved along. Gríma nodded and smiled as Théoden spoke, but every few minutes he would glance back and meet Éowyn’s eyes, until Théoden escorted him out of the hall at last.

 

* * *

 

So it was that every day, for a month, Éowyn worked alongside the new counsellor, helping him write letters, learning the twists and turns of the politics of the land, helping him resolve petty squabbles that were not suitable for the king’s attention. It was far more interesting work that anything Ymma had taught her, just as Gríma himself was far more interesting as a person than Ymma could ever hope to be.

At first Éowyn had been uncertain of him, as he had no doubt been uncertain of her. He had always been courteous, but in so obsequious a way that she had begun to believe that he was mocking her. It had taken her perhaps a week to realize that this was his way of coping with the disdain he received wherever he went – killing others with kindness. People were easily susceptible to flattery, and they were quicker to listen to him when he used his honeyed tongue to praise their every deed and feature.

Éowyn had not wanted him to think her so shallow. Nearing the end of her first week, she did her best to drop her own walls a little. She dealt with her mistrust and fear of others with polite courtesies and aloof behavior. Recognizing that Gríma used flattery similarly, she dropped some of her courtesies and began to be more informal, making jests that were perhaps not entirely appropriate for a refined lady of her age and position, teasing Gríma whenever the opportunity arose.

Eventually, the flattery ceased, and the truth beneath his silver tongue came forth.

She was delighted to find that Gríma’s wit was in all truth sharp and biting. He was quick to make cutting observations about the ridiculous double standards and peculiar social behaviors of the courtiers, and even quicker to make mocking replies to the rude remarks so often thrown his way by the others in the palace – replies that his attackers almost never understood.

More than this, Éowyn found that after a few weeks together he treated her as a person – as a woman, yes, but as a human also, with feelings and dreams and hopes outside her station. He was keen to hear what it was she wanted out of life, and happy to offer advice and assistance where he could.

There was only one thing that troubled her about him: it was too easy to slip and reveal things to him she’d never meant to say aloud. She found herself babbling to him more often than not, spilling her secrets under his unblinking, attentive stare. She had never been one for idle chatter before, but something about the intensity of his focus on her during any conversation always made her say a little more than she’d originally wanted.

Still, he seemed happy to keep her secrets, and spoke of them to no one else; and Éowyn came to trust him, for a time.

 

* * *

 

Things were at a delightful, happy place when the full moon came about again.

Even at fifteen, Éowyn dreaded the coming of her woman’s blood. The difficulty of her bleeding days had become steadily worse as the years went by. For two months she had had at least one day where the pain had so overwhelmed her that it had been impossible for her to get out of bed.

Ymma, of course, did not believe Éowyn’s pain was so great. She insisted Éowyn’s reaction was a consequence of the way Théoden had raised her – that she was only fighting what was natural in her because she refused to understand or accept it. “The King did you a grave disservice, raising you with those boys,” she would say, clucking her tongue. “If he had given you to me when you were just a wee thing you wouldn’t be so afraid.”

It seemed to frustrate her that Éowyn had shown no signs of relenting despite three years of Ymma’s tutelage. Anymore, she treated Éowyn’s bleeding days with great contempt, and continued to try and drag Éowyn from bed even when she was retching and crying and dizzy from the pain.

Now that she was out from under Ymma’s thumb, Éowyn hoped her time might be more restful. Perhaps it would even be  _less_ painful, without Ymma there to make her feel ashamed of her pain.

But when the full moon came, so too did the pain.

Éowyn did her best to ignore it, when she first awoke that morning. It was subtle at first, just a slight sense of dizziness and disorientation. But then the cramping came, hard and heavy and painful, and Éowyn was soon crawling back into her bed, curling herself into a ball and biting down onto her lip to swallow her cries.

Éowyn hardly noticed that breakfast had passed her by, and would probably have laid in bed the rest of the day unnoticed, if the entire House of Eorl and its plus one had not come tromping in to see her.

They must have been quite alarmed at her absence from breakfast. Ymma had always dragged her out of bed to make her eat, even when she felt certain she would vomit it all right back up. So they all came – her uncle, her cousin, her brother, and worst of all, Gríma.

Théoden was not a gentle man when he feared his family might be in danger. He practically kicked her door open, carrying a candle into her darkened room. “Eowyn,” he called, hurrying to her bed. “Eowyn, where have you been? You aren’t still sleeping, are you? It’s long past breakfast, and – ”

Éowyn covered her ears and grimaced. The very sound of his voice seemed to hurt her. “Please go away,” she said, her voice very small.

Théoden sat on the edge of her bed, gently reaching out to smooth her hair back from her face. “Are you ill?” he asked, laying the back of his hand against her forehead. “Should I send for Ymma?”

“No!” Éowyn almost sat straight up, but her head swam at once. She buried her face in her hands, another wave of cramps nearly sending her doubling over. “I’m just… I’m in pain, that’s all. It will stop. Please, just go.”

It was of course at this moment that Ymma came through the door.

“I might have guessed,” she sighed, bustling into the room. “I told you you would find her here. She does this every month, silly child that she is. You leave her to me, my lord, and I’ll have her up in no time.”

Théoden glanced between Ymma and Éowyn uncertainly. Éowyn wanted to plead with him, wanted to beg him just to let her sleep, just for today – but Ymma was already pulling out a dress for her and laying it on her dressing table, still babbling about the importance of raising a girl to act like a woman. None of the men seemed to have yet realized what the issue at hand was; Éowyn longed to scream at them to leave, before they did. Could Ymma ever humiliate her any more?

“Ymma, perhaps it would be better if we let her rest today,” Théoden said.

Ymma turned, the dress still in her hand, and shook her head. “Oh, no, my lord,” she said, bobbing a half-hearted curtsy. “You don’t want to encourage this, believe me. You don’t understand. This is a constant struggle with her. It’s her woman’s blood, you see…”

Éowyn gave a tiny whimper and wished to die right there.

Théodred and Éomer exchanged glances and turned dark red, immediately taking a few steps back for the door. “Oh, well,” said Éomer, shifting uncomfortably. “Then perhaps we should just go – ”

“Yes, of course,” said Théoden, standing at once. “I’m sure you know best, Ymma.”

Théodred had all but bolted out the door already, refusing to even look at Éowyn.

Gríma, however, had not moved an inch. He hadn’t even turned red, or looked embarrassed, or bothered to flinch away.

He cleared his throat, very politely, and everyone stopped.

“I’m certain you know Lady Éowyn better than I, of course,” he began, “But it seems to me the lady is not well at all. In the admittedly brief time I have known her, she has never given me reason to believe she would ever play at being ill, as you seem to be suggesting she’s doing now.”

Ymma turned on him with an angry glare., drawing herself up to her full height. “You’re a man,” she said, tone dripping with disdain. “You know nothing of what Éowyn is feeling right now. This is a woman’s issue, and I tell you, she exaggerates it out of fear of it. This is a natural part of being a woman – it does not carry these kinds of complications – ”

“Strange that you should say so,” Gríma said, tilting his head and staring hard at Ymma. She seemed to shrink a little under his gaze. “Perhaps you had not heard, but my mother was a healer. I often traveled with her to visit her sick patients; and many of them were women suffering similarly painful afflictions from – how did you phrase it? This  _natural_  part of being a woman?”

Ymma sneered. “I’m sure a Dunlending witch would humor such lies with potions and dark craft, but – ”

Any of Gríma’s restrained, polite facade fled at that. “I was, in fact, speaking of Gálmód’s wife, who is Rohirric through and through,” he said flatly. “And might I add that I find it  _fascinating_ you have such strong opinions on a subject you clearly know remarkably little about, despite experiencing it yourself. Perhaps I’m much mistaken, but do you, in fact, have any training as a healer?”

Ymma turned a beautiful shade of scarlet. “No, sir, but I – ”

“Aside from your own experience with woman’s blood, have you ever spent any time tending to or discussing the issue with other women?” he said, voice slashing across her protests.

She shifted uncomfortably. “Well, no, sir – it’s not something I discuss, it’s not  _appropriate_  – ”

“Oh, well then,” Gríma said, smiling thinly. “I had thought, since you happened to have such strong feelings on the matter, that you must know and discuss every detail of the issue with women on quite a regular basis, to speak so authoritatively on every other woman’s experience.”

Ymma spluttered for a moment, words failing her. Finally, she spat, “What can you know of it? You’re a man, you’ve never – ”

“Yes, I grant you, I do not have the same experience that you do,” he said, with a small shrug. “But I  _do_ happen to possess considerable skill in the healing arts, and unlike you, I have tended to more women in pain due to woman’s blood than I can count. Now, if you’re quite finished, you can put that dress back in Éowyn’s wardrobe and bring Éowyn some bread and nuts – preferably hazelnuts, if you have them? I believe you just added a store of them into the larder.”

Ymma looked between Gríma and Théoden, mouth open. She waited a moment for Théoden to protest, to tell Gríma he was out of line; instead, Théoden arched a brow and said, “I believe the counsellor has issued you a command, Ymma. I suggest you listen.”

Ymma clenched her teeth, but dropped a curtsy and pushed her way out to do as Gríma had bid.

Gríma rolled up his sleeves at once and moved to Éowyn’s side of the bed. “Now,” he said, coming to sit on the bed beside her. “With your permission, my lady, may I have your arm?”

Éowyn nodded slowly and held out her arm to him, wincing as another cramp came on. She hissed and closed her eyes tightly, curling up against the pain.

“Shh,” Gríma soothed, gently lifting her wrist and massaging it with his thumb. “Deep breaths, my lady. Yes, that’s better.”

His touch on her arm, the slow circle of his thumb against her wrist was mesmerizing. She tried to focus on that feeling rather than the pain, slowly opening her eyes and looking up at him. His eyes were focused on her, steady and gentle. “If any of you could bring me a warm blanket for her, or a warmed stone wrapped in something soft…”

“Is that going to help?” Éomer questioned, his voice sharp as a knife in Éowyn’s ear. “What are you doing to her?”

Gríma broke his gaze just long enough to glare at Éomer. “Helping,” he said. “Which is infinitely more than you appear to be doing at the moment. Something warm, please, and fast.”

Théoden moved from where he was standing and motioned for Éomer and Théodred to go. “Yes, of course,” he said. “We’ll be back soon.”

He hurried them out, following closely behind them, quietly berating them as they left.

Now it was just Éowyn and Gríma, his thumb still resting on her wrist. He turned his eyes back to her and smiled softly, reaching for her other wrist. “Hello, princess,” he murmured, with such familiar warmth that Éowyn forgot for a moment she’d only known him a month.

“I don’t think it’s worth it,” she said, “Being a woman and suffering from this.”

Gríma chuckled softly, rubbing his thumb over her pulse. “If I had a permanent cure for you, I would give it to you,” he said. “I only know of a few things that help with the pain, alas – heat, and nuts, and sometimes bread.”

“Strange,” Éowyn said, wincing as another cramp rolled through. She hissed and caught his wrist in her hand, curling her fingers tightly around it. “Such simple things for so much pain…”

“Shhh.” Gríma smoothed back a lock of her hair with gentle fingers, tucking it behind her ear. “It won’t cure it entirely, but it will at least help drive some of the pain out.”

Éowyn flinched, starting to tighten her grip on his wrist. He extricated himself from her grip and caught her fingers in his, letting her cling to his hand. She clutched his fingers tightly in hers, trying to breathe deeply and slowly as he’d told her. She smiled a little and said, “You were very…  _forceful_  with Ymma.”

He arched a nonexistent brow. “My apologies,” he said. “I should perhaps have been more polite, but – ”

“No, no,” Éowyn said, looking up at him and smiling just a little wider. “I’ve been wanting to say such things for years. Only you’ve been brave enough to do it.”

Gríma laughed. “I confess it was more annoyance than bravery that drove me.”

Éowyn’s smile faded. “She was wrong to say such things of you,” she said. “It was cruel of her. She does not know of what she speaks.”

Gríma looked away. “Few do,” he said, “Yet tongues do tend to wag regardless.” He turned back to her, eyes sharp and curious. “You and the King are the only people who do not judge me for my bloodline,” he said. “The only people who look on me with something other than mistrust. Your kindness, my lady, means much more to me than I can say.”

She smiled again, a small, tremulous smile. “How could I not be kindly disposed to a man who berates my nurse until she flees in terror?” she said. “Such a man deserves my gratitude forever.”

He laughed then, that high spike of laughter that so delighted and surprised her. He squeezed her hand again, and seemed about to say something more when Ymma returned, carrying a plate with bread and hazelnuts. “There,”she said, setting it on the bedside table and glaring at Gríma and Éowyn’s twined fingers. “Don’t tell me that’s a treatment too,” she said. “Strange cures you think you have for such pain.”

“It relieves pressure and pain,” Gríma said, turning his cold gaze on Ymma. His eyes narrowed until they were little more than blue slits. “Thank you, Ymma. Your services are no longer required here.”

She stared at him. “I don’t intend to leave you alone with the lady,” she said. “Who knows what other sorts of  _cures_  you might attempt on her, if left to your own devices – ”

Angrily, Éowyn forced herself to sit up again, glowering at Ymma. “Out,” she ordered flatly, pointing at the door. “ _Now._ ”

Ymma jumped, mouth dropping open. “But my lady – ” she protested. “You don’t understand – he could – ”

“Could what?” Éowyn snapped. “Treat my pain as a real thing, and perhaps actually do something to ease it? Is that what you so fear? I’d sooner trust him than you any day. Now please,  _get out._ ”

Ymma drew herself up. “So be it,” she spat. “Let it be on your head then, whatever he attempts.”

She turned and stormed away at that, just as Théoden returned with a pile of blankets. He stepped aside to allow Ymma passage, watching as she hurried away. “Oh dear,” he said, shaking his head. He turned back to Éowyn at once and came to sit beside Gríma, handing the pile of warmed blankets to him. “We heated these over a fire,” he said. “Should I cover her with them, or – ”

“No,” Gríma said, taking the blankets from Théoden. “Eowyn, if you would lay these over your stomach, I believe you will find your pain much eased.”

She took the blankets from him and gently laid it against her shift. The warmth began to seep into her skin at once, driving out the pain that had so plagued her. She sighed in relief as a cramp faded, returning a minute later – but softer this time. She breathed more easily, and nodded at Théoden to reassure him.

He smiled. “It seems you have been of great help to my niece today, Gríma,” he said.

Gríma bowed his head. “I only did what any healer must for one in pain.”

“It was good of you.” Théoden rose and laid a hand on Gríma’s shoulder, patting him fondly, a gesture he usually reserved for Théodred or Éomer. “Shall we let Éowyn rest, then?”

“Yes,” Gríma said, rising at once. He pulled his hand free of hers, ever so slowly, as if he was reluctant to part from her; and his eyes lingered on her face as he stepped back.

She smiled at him and held the blankets closer. “Thank you,” she said softly. “For listening to me.”

He bowed to her. “You can thank me by feeling better, princess,” he said, “And returning to me tomorrow.”

She laughed softly. “I’ll do my best,” she promised.

“That’s all I ask.” He bowed to her again, deeper this time; but his eyes remained locked on hers, and stayed on her as he followed after Théoden and closed the door to her chamber, leaving her to sleep.


End file.
